The Birdcage

Based on an exercise that I can no longer find...but nevertheless, here it is....

The Birdcage Laments The Loss of His Wingéd Companion

O, how I lament and grieve you now gone

The rustle of wings no more to be heard

The fragile form now become carrion

Never to be sung another sweet word

O, how I miss the light sounds of your voice

The beautiful singing and gentlest tones

I would give my own life, had I the choice

To breathe being into your flesh and bones

But I have not life to surrender you

I am only the cage, metal and wood

That your sweet birdsong gave a true soul to

Made me alive with your heart pure and good

With you gone I’ve naught but this empty swing

Never again to hold any live thing

Sacrifice

So I've begun a few new projects for the summer, and I'd love to share some of what I've been working on. This is a part of a chapter called "Sacrifice" in the most recent novel I've started, which is as of yet untitled. It's a very rough draft, but I'm excited about the direction it's going! So without further ado....

Sacrifice

Part One

The end of my rifle rested on the stack of sandbags that separated my small section of dry land. It pointed at the three men who wandered towards the perimeter. It was dark and they couldn’t see me, or my gun. But I could see them through the scope of my weapon. I lowered the point and shot at the ground in front of them. The dust exploded, a lot of it landing on their clothes, and they yelped, jumping a foot into the air and then scrambling backwards.

“You’re inching a bit too close to my land there, gentlemen,” I called out.

“What in gods’ name!” the tallest man yelled. He wore an eye patch and a round hat, and the rest of him seemed to scream thief, from his worn leather coat, much longer than the norm, to his constantly twitching fingers.

“That was a warning. Next time it’ll be straight through that pretty eye patch of yours.”

“Hey, now, we’re just harmless travelers,” said another man in a much calmer tone. He put up his hands to show he meant no harm. This man was thin and balding, and looked like my uncle the banker.

I scoffed. “Harmless? You think I don’t know you mean to plunder that town up ahead? I’m no fool.”

“What’s it to you?” Mr. Eye Patch said.

“I may be on the outskirts, gentlemen, but that town is my town. And you’d better turn around and start heading the other direction and thank me for my mercy.”

“How do you know we won’t be back?” the balding man asked.

“Oh, you can certainly try. But I promise you, I’ll be right here waiting.”

“Maybe we’d just best get out of here,” Mr. Eye Patch said, nodding at the other two.

They turned and headed back the way they had come. The third man, a tall and slender fellow dressed all in black with a hat hooding his eyes, turned up to me as they left and gave me a wink. I couldn’t quite make out his face, but something about his manner seemed familiar. I almost directed my gun towards him, but they all started to jog away, and I figured I didn’t need to start unnecessary trouble.

I set my gun down beside the sandbags and turned back to the house that sat at the south end of my perimeter. It was a small wooden house, with just one story and a few rooms. As I walked inside, the door creaked on its hinges and scraped the wooded floor. I closed it shut and walked to the fireplace, where I had soup cooking in a pot over the flames. I gave it a stir.

A slight clink of wind chimes just inside my door told me I had company. I went to the window and looked out, to see a man just behind the front gate, waving his hand in greeting. He was short and a bit plump, a hard thing to accomplish in our town. His body held on to fat like an earthworm sticks in the ground. Many people counted him lucky. He was dressed in a white shirt and a vest, with tan breeches and a cloak to protect from the cold and the dirt.

I went out to meet him in the yard. “A bit dark for a visit, Arnold.”

“I’ve just come from the town meeting.” Arnold’s voice, usually slow and raspy in his old age was now quick with an urgency I rarely saw him display. “I do wish you would have come.”

“To the meeting? But I never go.”

“Yes but…this meeting was a lot more…pertinent to you than normal.”

“Oh, just have out with it. What is it you came to tell me?”

Arnold took off his hat and held it in front of him, nervously passing it from hand to hand. “Well, you see, Quill, Greensboro has chosen.”

“Chosen what?”

“They believe the gods are angry, and that a sacrifice is necessary.”

My heart fell to my stomach and I felt a tremor in my hands. “Angry? For what? What have we done?”

“Things haven’t been good lately. They don’t know how else to explain it.”

I started to pace about in front of him. “That’s stupid.”

“They’re scared, Quill. It’s hard times. They believe we’re overdue for a sacrifice. And that’s not all….”

I stopped and stared at Arnold for a moment. I could see the hesitation in the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What else is there?”

“The townspeople they, they chose you.”

I squinted at him for a moment, and then waved my hand in dismissal. “No, no, wait a minute. We have rules. Volunteers first and if there are none, only the sick and dying.”

“Yes, but you see, the townspeople think that this ill fortune, along with the other unfortunate things we’ve suffered lately, may be a result of your…well, your lifestyle.”

“They blame me? That’s not fair! I protect this town.”

“I know you do, Quill.”

“What exactly is it I have caused?”

“Well, the crops haven’t been great this year and there’s been a lot of sickness in town.”

I took a violent step towards him, bringing my face close. “You mean to tell me that I’m being blamed for their stupidity in farming and medical care? I have nothing to do with that. I hardly even live there!”

“I’m sorry, Quill. The people want someone to blame. They want to feel like they’re doing something to alleviate the problem.”

“And so they’ve decided that I’m the problem?”

Arnold gave the slightest nod, taking a step away from me.

“So after all I’ve done to protect them, all the ways in which I’ve helped them, this is how I’m thanked? This is how I will be remembered? As a sacrifice?”

“I’m sorry, Quill. I came to warn you. They’re coming for you tomorrow.”

I shook my head and walked back to my home. “Well, thanks for the warning,” I spoke without facing him. “You can leave now.”

“Quill? Will you run?”

“If I were I would hardly tell you now, would I?”

“I suppose not. Good luck, my girl.”

“Yeah, you too old man.” I went into the house. The soup was done, probably overdone. I took the pot off and set in on the counter in the kitchen. I wasn’t really hungry anymore. I took a seat on the cot in the corner.

I had created a place here for myself. For ten years I had lived on my own, taking care of myself, keeping those who would do the town harm at bay. I never quite fit in with the townspeople. I supposed I unnerved them, but the people knew me and respected me, and I them. At least, so I thought. How long had these feelings gone on in the townspeople without my knowing? How long had they blamed me for their misfortunes?

Maybe I should just give them what they wanted. I had protected the town this long. Maybe this was my final way of taking care of them, as much as I didn’t agree with it. But the last thing I wanted for my death was to be a sick gift to the gods. I wouldn’t go out like that. Not like that.

The Difference Structure Makes

Once, on a retreat, I did a study on the first 8 chapters of Mark in which we talked about how the word "Israel" means "struggle." At the end of said retreat, I wrote this poem. I was inspired by a professor who encouraged us all to write a block poem at one point or another. Later, in the revision process, I received some critique that the poem needed a new, more traditional structuring. The difference was sort of astounding to me. Yes, I changed a lot of the sequence and words and added things to the revision, but a big part of the change was simply in the way the words appeared on the page. Neither version is near finished, I would say, but I thought it was still an interesting experiment in structure, and decided to share it with you. Providing the poem with a new format opened doors for a lot of the things I wanted to do with it. So if you're ever stuck with something, maybe try this out sometime.

The Struggle (Version One)


I lost you today woke up you were gone and I miss the ways you used to fill my lungs with life make me sing your righteousness to the skies knowing no way to not love       you       lived in my veins spread through my blood like wildfire each pump of my heart pushed you further       further into my core but it doesn’t anymore       not anymore       I cry out to you hear no reply but why       why      are you unable to return my call at all am I so unworthy too dirty for your touch I sing sin lies not worship my lungs black from all the bad breath I have let escape my lips drag your name through the dirt decay       laugh      I am too unclean for you to love fall down this chasm between us can’t make the other side slip further       further away from you with no one to blame but myself I cry       Stop       I don’t want to do this anymore so tired my body aches for peace rest a moment away from this hurricane of thought barrages of beating sin doubt rack my body break bones tear ligaments leave me a heap of skin on the ground melts away drop by drop vultures circle drop peck at the carcass my soul dies but is just       asleep sound

And you are nowhere to be found

Angry I toss ultimatums around as if they were ping pongs bouncing here there never reaching       anywhere       I want you to answer my questions       this time       I won’t be the one to beg on my knees for forgiveness it was you who destroyed this broke me abandoned me ignored me       left me       without       what am I supposed to do praise you for leaving me to the hyenas laugh maniacally slobber for my torn apart flesh I want to scream at them that you are more than they       because you have all the power someday soon they’ll realize left unable to criticize standing in your glory

I hate you today but want to love you tomorrow even though they snarl at me I want to defend       you       were always there before always listening so why would I think that you weren’t doing it still I lost faith       not you       I left you ignored you abandoned you       destroyed you       I broke your heart so I am broken down in shame I beg for forgiveness at your feet call out your name hear your reply in the love I feel you have for me despite all you delight in me I lift myself up for you

Just catch my heart, Lord       and hold it still

The Struggle (Version 2)

I lost you today

woke up you were gone

I miss the ways

you filled my lungs with life

you spread through my veins

like wildfire into my core

not anymore

I cry out to you

hear no reply

laugh

am I too unclean for you

to abolish this chasm

between us

I cry

I don’t want to do this again

so tired my body aches

for peace, rest

a moment away

from this hurricane of thought

barrages of doubt

rack my body

leave me a heap

of skin on the ground

and you are nowhere to be found

angry I toss ultimatums around

as if they were ping pongs bouncing

here there never reaching

anywhere

what am I supposed to do

praise you for leaving me

to the hyena’s laugh

you have all the power

and do nothing

I am weak and

cannot stand

but you don’t reach a hand

leave me to the masses

I know what I have done

I sing sin lies

push you away

then wonder where you’ve gone

fight you all the way

blame you for letting go

leaving me alone

to climb up this hill

just catch my heart

hold it still

The Kiss

Been working on this piece. Still needs a lot of work. Might workshop it soon, but until then, here you go!

The Kiss


Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, "The one I will kiss is the man; seize him." And he came up to Jesus at once and said, "Greetings, Rabbi!" And he kissed him. Jesus said to him, "Friend, do what you came to do." Matthew 26:48-50

Did your breath stink of

betrayal when you leaned in

like stale smoke, garlic, and skunk,

all rolled into one?

Did your lips on his cheek

scratch and rip like sandpaper

leaving a red raw patch

that stings in the wind?

Did you smile even then

with that murderous mark

lingering on his skin—

a call to action,

“this is the one you want.”

Did the trumpets blast triumphant

in your victory?

And do I smile after you

every time I turn away?

Do my nails leave trailing red

when I push his hands aside?

Does my betrayal sting less than yours

now to him no more terrestrial?

Or am I just as injurious

with every kiss I blow his way,

fingers crossed—a cowardly display.

The Best Lines of 2011

It's no secret that writers can learn a lot by reading, especially reading books by wonderful authors. I read a lot of books in 2011, and I wanted to share a little bit of that. There are some words that stay with you even after you have read a great book, those great, timeless lines or paragraphs that you can't help but go back and read, and read again. So here are just some of the awesome passages I read this year from some just as awesome books.

'Curiouser and curiouser!' Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll

I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that’s where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

Yes, the Führer decided that he would rule the world with words. “I will never fire a gun,” he devised. “I will not have to.” Still, he was not rash. Let’s allow him at least that much. He was not a stupid man at all. His first plan of attack was to plant the words in as many areas of his homeland as possible. He planted them day and night, and cultivated them. He watched them grow, until eventually, great forests of words had risen throughout Germany …. It was a nation of farmed thoughts. The Book Thief, Markus Zusak

If everyone else in the world were to mysteriously disappear, I would feel irritated about it only because there would be no one to make me doughnuts. Dearly Devoted Dexter, Jeff Lindsay

If the wages of sin are death, why don't more people die immediately?

More people don't die instantly because God is gracious and slow to anger. He decides to delay the punishment for sin and give people opportunities to repent. While severe punishments should remind us that death is the natural consequence of sin, instead we think God is mean. While delayed punishments should remind us that God is slow to anger, instead we think we don't really deserve death. We end up taking God's mercy for granted. God Behaving Badly, David T. Lamb

And now she was colder by the hour, more dead with every breath I took. I thought: That is the fear: I have lost something important, and I cannot find it, and I need it. It is fear like if someone lost his glasses and went to the glasses store and they told him that the world had run out of glasses and he would just have to do without. Looking for Alaska, John Green

The Road goes ever on and on 

Down from the door where it began. 

Now far ahead the Road has gone, 

And I must follow, if I can, 

Pursuing it with weary feet, 

Until it joins some larger way, 

Where many paths and errands meet. 

And whither then? I cannot say.

The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo. 

‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.' The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien

For the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs. Middlemarch, George Eliot

And I have by me, for my comfort, two strange white flowers--shrivelled now, and brown and flat and brittle--to witness that even when mind and strength had gone, gratitude and a mutual tenderness still lived on in the heart of man. The Time Machine, H.G. Wells

Poetry Class

From The Poet's Companion by Kim Addonizio and Dorianne Laux, "A Simple Exercise"
1. Write about writing
2. It's cold outside.
3. It should be snowing by now, but isn't.
4. Identify the time of day.
5. Use the pronoun "we."
6. Use the word "florid" in a way it would not be normally used.

Poetry Class

We meet at noon,

a group of florid fledglings

with energy like new day

acutely aware of the weight

of our work.

It is cold outside.

Slow blood breeds slow speech

and we work in silence,

await the snow

that is bound to drag us down.

But it doesn’t come.

The scratch of pen on paper,

the smooth rhythm of our breaths,

and I am sure, we have stopped the snow

and stilled the clouds.

We own these words.

We control the world.

Satellite

There are lots of things that inspire me to write. Reading great books from great authors, the bible, prayer, random things I see or hear, people I meet. But one of the biggest inspirations for me lately has been music. So I made myself a little playlist of songs with similar themes and began writing a short story. It's about a girl who is obsessed with a band, and then later gets to meet and date the lead singer, which leads to her obsession getting totally out of control and leaving her completely helpless when that relationship ends. The story is called "Satellite," because that's essentially what the girl becomes, letting her whole life and being revolve around this person in a disturbing and unhealthy way. Still a work in progress, but here's the first scene, along with the songs that inspired the story.

"Satellite" Playlist:

1. 10,000 Midnights- The Spill Canvas
2. Satellite Heart- Anya Marina
3. Blue Tulip- Okkervil River
4. Song About a Star- Okkervil River

First scene of "Satellite"

Aimee put her hand to the TV screen and felt the static crackle beneath her fingertips. “See?” she said. “Even when we’re miles apart, we still have chemistry.” She was sitting, legs crossed, on the floor in front of the television, her eyes riveted to the screen.

Jeremy looked different on TV. Aimee had thought he could never look any cooler than he did on stage, but he was great on the screen, a natural celebrity. The way he strummed his guitar. The perfectly timed glances to the camera. Jumps made to the music. He put on a great show. But for all the other people watching, that was all it was. A show. The music didn’t reach them like it reached her, as if he was singing directly to her. Aimee liked to watch his mouth move against the microphone and the way his body tensed with passion, his eyes closed, when he reached a particular lyric.

She reached out to the screen again, touching Jeremy’s face. He had shaved his beard since the last time she had seen him, about a month ago. Aimee didn’t like the new look, didn’t like that he had done it without her input. It was hard to think of him so far away, making decisions without her. But he would be in Denver in two days, and Aimee couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He would come and everything would be better. The distance would suddenly mean nothing. She just had to see him, face to face, not through the TV screen like all the others.

When the show was over, Aimee stopped the recording and turned off the TV. She flopped onto her back, resting her hands on her stomach, and sighed. Only forty-two more hours.